Stupid Bloody Ash
by Iaveina
Summary: England couldn't believe that out of all the times he was in America, Iceland's bloody volcano erupted and caused flights in and out of Europe to be cancelled. Great. Oneshot.


**Stupid Bloody Ash**

**Summary: England couldn't believe that out of all the times he was in America, Iceland's bloody volcano erupted and caused flights in and out of Europe to be cancelled. Bloody great. Oneshot.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia! …Although I REALLY WISH I DID.**

**And I know that the problems caused by the ****Eyjafjallajökull volcano erupting have died down by now…but I wrote this when it was still causing havoc…as a RP sample, hence the shortness and suckiness…I kept re-using the sample for things and I decided to put it on here.**

**This is dedicated to everyone I know ****who**** watches Hetalia!**

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Arthur couldn't help but stare at the glowing orange 'LONDON HEATHROW - CANCELLED' on the airport's departure board, a plane ticket clutched in one hand and the handle of his suitcase in the other, and resisted the urge to scream. Because really, screaming wouldn't have been gentlemanly at all.

After spending a good 20 minutes or so in an argument with the poor woman at the customer service desk, who managed to explain that UK airspace was closed due to ash from an Icelandic volcano-with-a-really-long-name erupting, Arthur had resigned himself to the fact that was stuck in America for the foreseeable future. The woman had offered to transfer him to a seat on a flight to Spain (one of the few European countries that still had airports open) but Arthur declined – Spain himself would probably leech him for being in his country for no good reason, and he'd have to go up through France to get anywhere near the UK; and the further he stayed away from that wine-loving pervert the better.

So, grumbling and cursing at everyone and everything in his path (and an absent Iceland for his stupid Eyja-something volcano), England stomped to the taxi rank and – after successfully scaring away half a dozen or so people in the queue – clambered into a cheery-yellow taxi and rattled off Alfred's address to the slightly-freaked out taxi driver.

Zoning out the loud, screamo-like song on the radio (obviously 'sung' by some American band – since British music sounded 100 times better than this), Arthur let his mind wander to the very person he was so keen to avoid. The green-eyed nation had been staying with Alfred for the past week – and apart from the fistfight they'd had that morning when the American had insulted the Queen the two nations had been getting along quite well. But still, Arthur was keen to get back to his moderate climate and where everybody drove on the correct side of the road.

'It might not be too bad,' Arthur thought to himself as he stared out the taxi's window. 'It's not like I hate that git completely...And he was thoughtful enough to get me some tea...' He smiled slightly, his mind wandering over his mental image of America; to the bright, playful blue of his eyes and the healthy tan to his skin and to how much he'd changed from the little boy he'd raised all those years ago...

The taxi jerked to a halt and Arthur blinked, coming back to reality with a bit of a jolt. He handed the driver the remainder of his dollars (musing over the differences between the one dollar bills in comparison to his one pound coins), clambered out of the cab with his suitcase and wandered up to the front door. He raised his hand to knock and almost thwacked a surprised-looking Alfred –who had just opened the door- in the face.

"Iggy!" Alfred grinned. "Why're you back here?"

Arthur glowered. "My bloody plane was cancelled."

Alfred's grin didn't disappear. "Aw, well welcome back! I've got some of your leaf-water somewhere so you can help yourself to that," He leaned forward and grabbed Arthur's suitcase, effortlessly pulling it into the house as if it were feather light. "Coffee's so much better."

And as he stepped into the house Arthur couldn't help but roll his eyes. Some things would never change.

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